Painted Desert
by ThirteenthStruggle
Summary: When winter begins to fall on the East Coast, the survivors have no choice but to look into rumors of a safe-zone in California. But in the city of Las Vegas, the survivors may have finally found what they were looking for...
1. The Journey, Origins

It was an unusually cold day in the once vibrant city of Las Vegas, Nevada. Streets once bustling with activity were deserted and silent. Neon signs flickered all around, advertising wares long since likely stolen to the empty world. It was into this silent mausoleum of a city that the four Survivors from the East Coast; Bill, Zoey, Francis, and Louis, passed through in order to loot supplies for their continued journey towards salvation in California.

"_Jeez, look at this place. It's a ghost town." _Francis murmured to the rest of his little group. They had traveled along the highway across the entire country and it was the same story everywhere; absolutely nobody. That is, until something makes noise.

In this case, the puttering motor of the van they were riding in.

"_Heads-Up, we're comin' into town."_ Instantly, the rest of the group was awake and groping for weapons. Weeks of fighting for survival had trained and hardened each of them into something less, and yet more then human. Bill had been snoozing in the passenger's seat until the call came up; he shouldered an Assault Rifle and looked out the window.

"_Safehouse sign up ahead. We should be able to rest in there."_ Bill had been referring to the beautiful building with green tinted windows and a massive slanting roof. The top of the building had a gigantic square painted on the top; inside which was the letters all of them had come to recognize as universal for a safe-haven.

"_It looks almost like a mall; you think they'll have supplies?"_ The cautiously optimistic voice of Louis gave shape to what all of them had been praying for. And refraining from saying for fear of the great Demon Murphy.

Bill lit up a cigarette and reclined in the seat. "_The entire city looks like it got hit pretty hard, pretty fast. We'll find out when we get there."_ He told the former business man. Inwardly, the veteran felt a bit of the same hope and regretted the necessity in caution. But if Vietnam had taught him one thing, it was 'Better Safe then Sorry'.

"_I'd love to have something clean to wear.."_ The fourth member of their group, Zoey sighed wistfully.

Francis laughed from the driver's seat. "_Shit, if we're making wishes, then I want a new jacket, about a dozen Molotov Cocktails, and a Shower."_ The rest of the group groaned; it seemed like he was the only one actually enjoying himself during the zombie apocalypse.

The van continued to drive in the daylight. As it got closer to the school, more and more broken down cars congested the lanes. Eventually the vehicle reached a point where it could continue no more, a good mile outside the safe building.

"_Come on people, get your asses into gear. We're sitting ducks out here."_ Bill nodded towards the doors. One-by-one they climbed out of the vehicle they had lived in for the past week. Bill and Francis walked around to the back of the van and began picking what supplies they would need for the long trek towards the building.

If anything else on the trip was an indication, the journey would be a hellish test of survival.

-

Author's Note: First Story! :P Premise is that the survivors journey west to escape the winter. Review?


	2. The Journey, Act One

Each of the survivors toted a backpack literally bursting at the seams with the necessities for setting up in a potentially hostile environment. Zoey, the smallest of the survivors, staggered under the crushing weight.

"Guys, did we really have to pack all this stuff?" She whined to her companions. "I mean, do you really think we'll have to make a camp there? It never works in the mo-"

Her complaints were interrupted by a blood-curdling shriek. Instinct made her duck while simultaneously reaching for a pistol. That bit of survival skill likely saved her life; a Hunter flew overhead with its' razor sharp claws outstretched.

"Shit, shit, SHIT!" Zoey mumbled to herself. The Undead monster turned to face her and for an instant she was staring into the spot its' eyes should have gazed out of. The pistol in her hands kicked viciously, silencing the growling Hunter forever.

"Nice SHOT, kid." Bill gave her a gruff smile and a pat on the back before continuing forward.

One of the streets they needed to cross had been covered by debris from some sort of explosion. The skittish survivors detoured around the area; endeavoring to go through the houses instead of open streets. Bill scanned the sidewalk for hostiles in both directions, opened the front door, and stepped inside.

And found himself face-to-face with a morbidly obese zombie.

Its' piggish face frowned viciously at him and some grumbling noise erupted from the impossibly huge stomach. A diseased moan gave Bill a clue as to what was next, but he had no time to move. With a bellow of rage, the Obese monster showered Bill in a torrent of chunky green slime.

In all of his years in the army, Bill had never seen anything like the Mutated freak which emptied the contents of its' stomach on him. He naturally pulled the trigger on his Assault Rifle and let loose a stream of lead.

The Boomer, as it was called, exploded violently and sent the old veteran to the ground. He coughed non-stop for a few seconds before Francis picked him up.

"Old Man, you smell like rotten meat!" The biker had never been known for his abundant social skills.

"Well, next time we'll let you go first, kid!" Before the argument could advance any further, Louis practically ran through the door after them.

He vainly attempted to catch his breath before speaking. "A whole load of them...coming this way..." Louis sat on the ground for a moment and continued. "I don't know if we can hold 'em, there's so many."

Francis just laughed like a child on Christmas Day. "Can't get much better than this, right?" Both Louis and Bill groaned loudly, annoyed at the biker's impossible-to-dampen joy of killing the monsters.

_'That boy has something wrong with him...'_ Bill thought to himself.

But there was no more time for bickering, playful or not. The screams, squeaks, and moans growing louder by the second gave the Survivors a rough estimate of how big the encroaching horde really was. The sounds of enraged people echoed for blocks, disturbing the silent tranquility of the city one known as Las Vegas.

Bill knew the rag-tag group would never survive an assault of that magnitude. Not without some serious fortifications. "Get a move-on, we're double-timing it to the mall!" The survivors scrambled through the house and into the cleared parking lot on the front of the building.

All but one of the four sets of double-doors had been permanently shut with sheets of metal welded in place. Zoey and Louis entered the door first, looking on the other side for any signs of undead activity. Bill and Francis, on the other hand, stood outside and bought a few precious seconds of time.

"All Clear!" Louis yelled from inside. Bill backed through the door, still shooting, but Francis held his ground.

That was not the plan. "Francis, get your ass IN here!" Bill shouted desperately to the man. Francis smacked the closest ghoul with the butt of his shotgun and fell backwards through the doors. Bill slammed them shut and locked the door.

The horde outside roared and smashed at the portal. Its' hinges shuddered and flexed, but held under the assault. In what seemed like hours but was in fact only minutes, the Zombies lost interest and wandered off.

That's when Bill turned and noticed a huge banner reading "Rancho High School" hanging above the doors. His cigarette dropped from his lips and fell to the ground.

"You have GOT to be shitting me."


	3. The Journey, Act Two

Aside from the occasional infected tapping idly at the locked door, the entrance to the school was dead quiet. Each of the survivors sat quietly, recovering from the journey and dealing with the psychological aspects of being trapped in a High-School. Zoey and Louis took it particularly bad, having had the highest expectations out of the entire group.

Bill stomped out the fallen cigarette, lit another and placed it between his lips. He took a long, hard drag and let the nicotine flood through his system. It was a comfort thing.

He sighed for a second before talking. "Alright people. It's not a mall. But there's still probably some stuff in here we can scavenge. Besides, it's a safe-house. Might as well sleep in a bed instead of a moving vehicle." Half-hearted murmurs of agreement gave Bill the answer he needed.

The veteran stood up, his ancient joints creaking in protest. "We should start looking around. Who knows what's in this place; it's huge."

It seemed like they were all still jumpy from the encounter outside. Even though they were trying to look for useful parts and gadgets, they managed to stay within twenty feet of each other at all times. Bill would have been amused, were it not so vital to find something to escape with.

"We got somethin' over here." Francis called out. His deep voice echoed richly throughout the empty hallway, reverberating hundreds of times in the space. "Woah, sweet. Echo!" He laughed when the noise came back to him.

Bill just waltzed right up and smacked the chuckling man in the back of the head. He ignored the biker's protests and snatched the paper he had found. Writing scrawled out as if under major duress was at first barely legible in the half-light of the building, but as his eyes adjusted, Bill began to read.

To whom it may concern,

_'I guess I'll never get to see home again, after all. You know, I thought the evacuation was going pretty well at first. After the initial outbreak of whatever this is, most of us holed up in the school. We lasted a while; I guess that freeze-dried shit they keep in school cafeterias is pretty durable. At any rate, the officers from Nellis Air Force Base have brought some antique uniforms._

_Mine looks like something from World War Two. I kid you not, a black trench-coat. Collar and all. Beggars can't be choosers though, it should keep me from getting bit. Thick fibers and what not.'_

The writing changed with the date at that point. It became even more harried, in some places entirely unreadable.

_Damned government! Their purge troopers, all high and mighty with the flamethrowers they tote around and what-not really know how to irritate a guy. If my survival didn't totally depend on them, I would really consider killing every last one of the arrogant bastards._

One last line was written clearly on the paper before it dissolved into dirt, grime, and what looked suspiciously like blood.

_'They are here.'_

The Grizzled Veteran offered up a silent prayer for the soul who had written the letter while quietly folding the fragile paper. He placed it in one of the various pockets on his backpack and turned to face the rest of the group.

His voice was unusually subdued as he spoke. "The letter mentions some sort of food supply in this place, something that lasted through the power-outage. Additionally, there were survivors here at some point; there has to be a safe-house nearby. Keep your eyes peeled."

The other three survivors, now completely spooked at the prospect of walking through the spacious school without cover, nodded jerkily and moved out in a rough approximation of a search pattern. Bill, meanwhile, was lost in his thoughts.

_'Purge Troopers? What in the world could the poor sucker have meant?'_ He knew the term sounded familiar, but couldn't quite remember what the word Purge meant. Meaning or no, the presence of the word gave him chills up and down his spine.

He was broken out of his pondering by the sound of quiet clothes, rustling in a partially collapsed area to the left. Bill ducked behind a pillar just in case whatever it was had seen him.

"Psst...! Get over here!" He whispered in a tense voice to the other survivors. Whatever tasks they were performing became unimportant as the answered his desperate call. Bill checked his ammunition counter, took a deep breath, and pirouetted around the corner...

-

Author's Note! :D

Sorry about the lack of updates; I've been busy at school. Got three homework assignments due in the space of two days. :(


	4. The Journey, Act Three

A figure sat calmly, surrounded by a ring of corpses, in a chair acting for all the world as if the entire situation was normal. Its' back was turned and the arms were folded over the chest, which rose and fell in a deep rhythmic action. A long, black coat covered most of the man, especially with the drawn-up hood.

Bill leaned over to the other survivors and whispered. "I think it's sleeping..."

Without warning, the man simultaneously stood from his seat, drew a pistol from one of the various pouches on the front of the coat, and rolled towards the wall. He came up in a fighting crouch, already drawing a bead on the Four Survivors frantically diving behind the columns for cover.

A series of bullets sailed through the air where Bill had been a split-second before. He winced, the experience of being shot at brought back some particularly painful memories.

"Quit 'yer firin'! Uninfected People here!" Bill roared out at the man he suspected to be one of the Purge Troopers mentioned in the note. He wasn't quite sure the mysterious stranger had heard until the stream of bullets let up pounding into the column.

Louis looked up from where he was crouched behind a low-wall. "It's over?"

"Not yet..." Francis told him. He muttered to himself. "I'm gonna get this asshole. Nobody shoots at me." The look Louis gave him was priceless.

Meanwhile, Bill stuck his head around the corner and stumbled backwards in shock. The man was standing directly in front of him! He took a minute to survey the stranger and realized with shock that it wasn't a grown man; just a teenager. The baggy Trench-coat bore various insignia, as well as places where old patches looked to have been ripped off.

All over the front were various pockets secured by zippers. These were noticeably newer than the rest of the coat; possibly sewn on in the recent past. Two draw-strings ending in finely-crafted ornaments lay across the torso, coming from the hood.

The face was entirely devoid of any emotion. Steel-Blue eyes gazed fiercely back into Bill's own, likely appraising him in the same manner. The fine features were sprinkled with dirt and grime from constant days of surviving. Light-Brown hair struggled vainly beneath the hood to stick up in a spiked manner but failed and instead lay covering a portion of the boy's right eye.

Perhaps the most intimidating thing about the teenager was his height; he easily towered over the Veteran at well over Six feet tall.

He showed no trepidation at the stranger and extended a hand. "Pleased to meet 'ya. Names' Bill." He looked at the Teenager expectingly, waiting for a name.

Bill would get none. The Boy gripped his hand briefly, let go, and stepped back. He surveyed the group with cold, calculating eyes before speaking. The cold tone rang out curtly in the silent grave of a school.

"Night is coming. Follow me."

Without another word, he opened a pocket with his free left-hand and withdrew another pistol. Both of the handguns were identical, .45 caliber guns in service with the United States Army as a Standard Service Side-Arm for quite some time. His walking gait acquired something eerily reminiscent of a Hunter's prowl as he smoothly surveyed the hallways leading deeper into the tomb.

Bill motioned to the rest of the group and made haste to follow. He had quite a few questions on his mind about what happened in the city, and he was damn determined to get some answers.

"Boy, it's polite to give people your name." No response came from the hooded teenager. Bill waited a few minutes before trying again, a few minutes spent following the child to god-knows-where.

"What happened to this here city?" A chuckle echoed from the teen, cold enough to send shivers down the following Survivor's spines. Again, the clear, curt voice rang out in the silence.

"Tell me, what do you think happened? Do you believe I willingly killed those people I once new and respected as individuals?" He stopped walking and rounded on them. The look on Zoey's face brought a self-mocking smile to his own.

"Do I disgust you? Am I insane? These are questions you will answer for yourself." His creepy smile disappeared, to be replaced by the blank look once more.

"There is a safe-house ahead. We must make it before night-fall." Without another word, he turned and stalked deeper into the hallways echoing with his voice. Seeing no alternative, Bill beckoned to the others and strode after the possibly insane child.

-

Author's Time!

Okay, it's been a while since update. I won't let this die without at least telling you guys first. So, the story's going to focus on the Four Original Survivors as well as the fifth, but keep in mind that the new-guy isn't as important as the In-Game characters. I thought it'd be interesting to explore the effects of zombie apocalypse on an underdeveloped human psyche.

Hence, Teenager. :)


	5. The Journey, Act Four

Bill hung back with the other three survivors he had been traveling with since their first desperate escape from the city, back when it all began. He shuddered at the memories and repressed them, unwilling to dwell on the negative thoughts coming with every near-death struggle for survival. A little bit of conversation with the others might relieve some of the tension still hanging in the air.

As they marched cautiously after the child, the Veteran started to talk in a low voice. Wouldn't do any good to upset the obviously volatile teen.

"Zoey...What's your thoughts on the new guy...?" He twitched his head towards the slinking form moving from shadow-to-shadow in front of them.

Zoey shivered despite herself. "Something about him gives me the creeps. I don't know, I feel like we should trust him, but a feeling just tells me to keep an eye out. He could be pretty crazy, after all." Her thoughts echoed Bill's, for the most part.

"No Shit, Sherlock. He's gotta be Bat-Shit crazy after seeing everyone he knows get eaten, climb back up, and try to kill him." Francis never wasted an opportunity to add in his thought-of-the-day. Bill felt his eyes roll heavenward and made an effort to stop the justified reaction.

He noticed that Louis had remained silent throughout the ordeal. The businessman kept his hollow eyes forward, unwilling to look anybody face-to-face. It was a stark contrast to his usually cheery, almost bubbly nature.

_'About as cheery as anybody can be in the apocalypse...'_ Bill mused to himself.

The veteran was so deep in his thoughts that he barely noticed the rest of the party had stopped for some reason. He narrowly avoided walking into the teenager's back, side-stepping at the last moment and looking around the corridor for foes, real or imagined. The teen pointed to one sign painted with a large black arrow and sloppy writing. To whomever wrote it, it must've made sense.

Apparently, the teen knew what it meant. "There is a safety zone further this way. If we can make it through, there is food and shelter. I haven't stayed there since..." His voice cracked and trailed off. He made a valiant effort to rally himself, and continued.

"Since the beginning of the infection." He spoke no more and walked through, checking both pistols for ammunition.

The other Survivors gave each other glances; all of them had noticed his reluctance to speak about the subject. Obviously, something horrifying had happened in the area. Bill sighed silently and mumbled incoherently under his breath about 'damned kids these days' before following him. Something crunched and Bill cursed quietly.

His rifle snapped up in an instant and spat out a few rounds, catching a Hunter in mid-flight. The creature's primal roar cut out into a disgusting gurgle as the frangible ammunition tumbled and shattered inside his chest cavity, shredding the radically altered organs into bloody chunks.

Its' momentum carried the Infected cadaver into Bill's chest, knocking him down with a grunt. He shoved the thing off of his chest angrily and tried to get up, only to feel a boot slam into his chest. Above him was what used to be a rather large, husky man which had turned into an obese, humongous sack of phlegm and infectious pus.

It burbled its' ponderous war-cry. A chain of convulsions shook the fat monster as whatever muscles survived the transformation worked furiously to induce a vomiting reaction. The creature let a sickening smile grace its' features before its' mouth opened and a retching sound came out.

As the vile substance began to come out, the Boomer was knocked flat on its back with a well-placed kick. A flowing cloak of black swept over the dazed veteran as the Teen stepped easily over him. He reversed his pistol and used the handle to methodically smash the Boomer backwards until it fell to the ground, dazed.

At which point he stepped back and shot the disease-ridden corpse until it burst in an obscene cloud of pus and gore.

By this point the others in the group had reached Bill and pulled him up. He coughed and shuddered, but waved off the concerned hands reaching for him.

"Hard-ass..." Francis muttered to himself.

Bill pretended to not notice and stepped up to the front. He watched their guide dispassionately wipe the bloody grip of his pistol on his coat. Rudimentary cleaning complete, the Teenager looked back to ensure he was in one piece.

He spoke quietly, as usual. "Time to go. We have to make it soon, or else we'll all be dead."

Once more he walked ahead of the group, slinking from shadow-to-shadow in the debris-filled halls. Bill dropped back to talk with the other survivors.

"Well, if we don't trust him we still need a name for him..." he whispered to the others. As usual, Francis had to add some flavor to the conversation. "How about Crazy? 'Cuz that's what I think he is." And just like Francis always did, he basically shouted the insult towards their guide.

Zoey gave him a withering look suggesting large amounts of impending pain. "Shut it! You think he likes being called Crazy?"

The cold, echoing chuckle came out from one of the shadows up ahead. "I don't think it quite suits me."

Francis couldn't help himself. "Well, we don't know anything to judge you by! You should be glad I kept the suggestion PG-13, kid!"

The Teenager melted out of the impending shadows in the darkened halls and favored Francis with a frigid stare. Shivers ran down the biker's spine as the pitiless blue orbs studied him, reading his soul like a book.

"That might be what you should base it off of. I'm Nobody, but you don't know anything about me. I think, for prudence, you can call me Enigma."


End file.
